


made for our searching

by renecdote



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bobby has BDE (Big Dad Energy), Buck needs a hug, Crying, Episode Tag, Episode: s04e05 Buck Begins, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, that seems be a theme in my writing lately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:21:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29505417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renecdote/pseuds/renecdote
Summary: “You told me once that I am one of the most important people in your life,” he says. “That you don’t know what you’d do if anything happened to me.” He waits for recognition for light Buck’s eyes, for the words to mean everything that they meant back then. “You never gave me the chance to tell you that the feeling is mutual, but—it is. You’re important, Buck, and I care about you, and I want you to be okay.”Buck is biting his lip so hard it’s probably going to bleed. He looks—desperate. Desperate to hear the words, to believe them.“That’s why I’m here,” Bobby tells him. Because you’re like a son to me. Because I love you. “Because I care—a lot—and that means I’m pretty invested in making sure you’re alright. It also means that I want to be here even when you’re not.”Missing scene for Buck Begins.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Bobby Nash
Comments: 41
Kudos: 247





	made for our searching

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly just an excuse for Buck and Bobby feelings because Buck Begins gave me way too many of them and it was either write or implode. Not tagged Buddie because it's mostly just Bobby and Buck, but I want you all to know that it is strongly implied because Bobby Knows What's Up. 
> 
> Title taken from Endymion by John Keats. No particular reason, I just like it. Plus out of context it has great found family vibes imo.

They’ve been at the hospital almost an hour before Buck says, “You don’t have to stay.”

The words come out of nowhere. Bobby glances up from his phone, frown more confused than anything else. Of course he doesn’t have to stay, but surely—it’s been an hour, it’s been countless hospital visits, hasn’t Buck figured out—?

“Maybe I want to stay.”

Buck blinks, like he isn’t sure what to do with that. He’s been cleaned up, tears showered away with the dirt and ash, but he still looks... not great. A little vacant, honestly, like he’s not fully present. That, more than the scrapes and bruises and possibility of smoke inhalation, is what makes worry gnaw in Bobby’s stomach. He hates seeing Buck in a hospital bed. He hates even more seeing him look anything less than defiant and frustrated about being there.

Buck doesn’t say anything else. He’s been like that all night: quiet. Even when he speaks, his voice is soft, a shell of what it should be. It’s like he’s whispering, desperate for someone to hear him but too afraid to raise his voice in case someone does hear him and chooses not to listen anyway.

Or maybe it’s just the smoke. Maybe his throat is just sore from breathing all that crap in. Maybe Bobby is just worried and overthinking and Buck is fine.

(Except for how he definitely isn’t.)

The quiet settles between them again. Bobby feels like he should say something, but he’s not sure what. _Are you okay?_ feels pointless. _I’m proud of you_ doesn’t feel like enough. It makes him wish Athena was here; she is the one who always has the right words.

He can still hear Buck’s voice, thick with tears, saying, “I almost gave up.”

And Athena—beautiful, amazing, always-there-with-perfect-timing Athena—who wasn’t even there for that part of the conversation, but still had all the right things to say. One look at Bobby, one second of silent communication, and she stepped up, got the first hint of real smile out of Buck all day.

“I’m sure whoever you saved was just glad you were being Buck.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“You never give up. That’s what being Buck means to me.”

Bobby has been thinking about that; about what Buck means to him. It’s something he’s not quite sure how to quantify. He thinks of the kid who stood on a rooftop all those years ago, shirt undone, desperate, begging, telling him, “Being a firefighter is all I have.”

He thinks of the kid who got crushed by a ladder truck and almost died from a pulmonary embolism and still had the strength and resolve to say, “Out there, in the world, helping people—that is where I belong,”

He thinks of the kid who was so sure of that purpose that he stood on Bobby and Athena’s doorstep and said, “I told you I wouldn’t stop fighting until I got my job back, and I won’t… Even if it means fighting you.”

He thinks of Buck, lost, saying, “I don’t even know what that means.” He thinks about how much it sounded like _I don’t know who I am anymore_ and his chest aches with how much he wants to fix it and how much he doesn’t know how to.

(He thinks of Athena, after the embolism, saying, “Whenever I think of Harry and May about to take a stumble, my instinct is to throw myself in front of them, cushion the fall.”

And he thinks that cushioning the fall isn’t the hard part; picking up the pieces after it has already happened is.)

Bobby glances back down when his phone buzzes, unsurprised to see Hen’s name at the top of the new message. It’s more surprising that it took her this long to check in, to give in to her own worry and ask, **How’s our boy?**

It’s a loaded question. Physically? All signs point to Buck being fine. But mentally?

 **Still waiting for xrays** , Bobby sends back. **Docs aren’t concerned though**.

Hen is quick. And smart. And she has worked with both of them for years. It only takes a few seconds for her next message to come through. **But you are?**

There is a part of Bobby that is always concerned about Buck. It comes with the territory—fire captain, friend, fifteen odd years as a dad. A part of him is always concerned about each and every one of his firefighters. But Buck—

It’s different. Maybe because he’s given Bobby more reason than most to be concerned over the years. Maybe just because… it’s Buck.

He watches Buck shift on the hospital bed, watches the grimace as aching muscles protest. Bobby knows what that’s like; knows that Buck will only be more sore tomorrow if he doesn’t move around. He also knows that’s not why Buck is restless. After all the time he has spent in them, it’s not really a surprise that he doesn’t like hospitals. Bobby was expecting him to fight harder against coming to be checked out than he did. The fact that he didn’t… It’s just one more reason to be concerned.

But concern isn’t the only reason Bobby wants to stay. There are a lot of reasons, really, but they can all be summed up under one simple umbrella: love.

 **It’s been a rough day** , Hen sends him. **But Buck is strong, he’ll bounce back. He always does.**

She’s right. Even though this feels different, Bobby knows that she’s right. Buck is strong. And he has the entire 118 behind him, always. They reminded him of that tonight; and they’ll keep reminding him as many times as he needs.

He opens his mouth, feeling like he should say something to that effect, but it is Buck who is first to break the silence again.

“My parents never stayed,” he says. It’s the kind of statement that Bobby thinks should have a little more emotion—bitterness, anger, sadness—anything other than the flat tone Buck uses. “Well, I guess that’s not technically true. They couldn’t stay because they never came in the first place.” A few seconds, while Bobby struggles to breathe past the emotion clogging his chest—anger and sadness and all the bitterness Buck isn’t displaying—and then he adds, “You don’t have to feel sorry for me.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Isn’t it?” Buck looks at him then, eyes shining with tears, so much like the way he looked sitting on the back of the ambulance earlier. “I feel like everyone is treating me like glass, like I’m broken, and I don’t—I can’t—”

He stumbles, breath shuddering, turning away to hide the rapid blinking as he fights to keep his emotions under control. Bobby waits, patient, but no more words come. He takes a breath, gives himself a moment to sort through all the words clamouring in his own head. He quiets the rush of anger at Buck’s parents, pushes it aside to be dealt with later, knowing that what Buck needs right isn’t anger on his behalf; it’s reassurance. The angle, the height different between hospital bed and chair—it’s wrong for a hug. But Bobby leans forward, hand finding Buck’s wrist and squeezing, hoping it’s enough for even a fraction of what he’s feeling to bleed through.

“You told me once that I am one of the most important people in your life,” he says. “That you don’t know what you’d do if anything happened to me.” He waits for recognition for light Buck’s eyes, for the words to mean everything that they meant back then. “You never gave me the chance to tell you that the feeling is mutual, but—it is. You’re important, Buck, and I care about you, and I want you to be okay.”

Buck is biting his lip so hard it’s probably going to bleed. He looks—desperate. Desperate to hear the words, to believe them.

“That’s why I’m here,” Bobby tells him. _Because you’re like a son to me. Because I love you._ “Because I care—a lot—and that means I’m pretty invested in making sure you’re alright. It also means that I want to be here even when you’re not.”

A tear slips down Buck’s cheek. He sniffs, ducking his head as he wipes it away. Bobby plucks a tissue from the box on the rolling table beside the bed and offers it wordlessly. Then he thinks twice and grabs the whole box, dropping it in Buck’s lap. Buck sniffs again, grabbing a handful of tissues with a wet, barely-there kind of laugh.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m—I don’t know why—I’m a mess.”

“It’s okay.” Soothing is instinct; Bobby doesn’t even have to think about the words before they are falling out of his mouth. “You’re allowed to be a mess.”

Lord knows Bobby would be in his position. Hell, _anyone_ would be.

“Sorry,” Buck says again.

“Nothing to apologise for.”

A few more tears slip out and Buck wipes them away, crumpling more tissues in his lap. It’s the kind of quiet, exhausted crying that stretches out, more tears welling up every time you think they’ve shuddered to a stop. Bobby waits it out, gives Buck all the time and quiet support he needs to pull himself back together. It leaves Buck staring unseeing at the blanket over his legs, shoulders drooping with fatigue. His breathing is even, the tears stopped, only the occasional sniffle remaining, but it’s hard to tell, yet, whether the outpouring of emotion was cathartic or just exhausting.

“Do you need anything?” Bobby asks.

Buck shakes his head. He squeezes his eyes shut, pressing the heel of his hand between his brows. Headache, Bobby judges. He’s not really surprised; knowing Buck, it’s probably been lurking there most of the night, and he’s just hit the point where he’s too worn down to fight it. Bobby stands, patting his leg.

“I’ll get you some water,” he says. Maybe a few Tylenol if he can find a nurse who isn’t busy. “I’ll be right back.”

He’s gone less than five minutes. When he gets back to the cubicle, Buck is lying down, eyes closed. Bobby takes a moment just to look at him. There is a crease between his brows that speaks of discomfort, his eyes are red and puffy, the colour stretching across his cheeks and nose as well. He looks—young. Too young to look so broken. One hand is curled by his face, a tissue still crumpled in it, and even though he must know Bobby is there, he doesn’t stir until Bobby puts a hand on his shoulder. Buck sits up just far enough to swallow the pills that are held out and drink some water before lying down again.

“You can rest,” Bobby tells him, retaking his seat beside the bed. “I’ll wake you when they’re ready to take you for the x-ray.”

It feels natural, to put a hand on Buck’s head, to smooth back the curls that have dried into a wild mess, sticking up in every direction. Buck’s lashes flutter and his fingers twitch, like he’s holding himself back from grasping at something he thinks he can’t have. Bobby’s chest aches all over again. If he ever meets Phillip and Margaret Buckley, he’s going to have more than a few choice things to say to them, starting with _how the hell can you not love this amazing kid?_

Unable to resist, Bobby runs his fingers through Buck’s hair again. He watches the rise of Buck’s chest, feels the tension melt out of him when he exhales. When he pulls his right hand back, he makes sure to leave his left hand on the edge of the mattress, close enough that if Buck needs him, he doesn’t even have to reach. He’s right there; and he has no intention of leaving.

—//—

It doesn’t really hit Bobby that he’s been up all night until they are stepping out of the hospital into sunlight several hours later. X-rays came back clear, there was nothing of concern on the battery of other tests they did, so they’re sending Buck home with a strong suggestion of rest and not much else.

Buck is still quiet as Bobby puts a hand on his shoulder to guide him toward the battalion truck, but he seems steadier, more weary than emotionally and physically wrung out. Maybe their talk helped, or maybe it was just the couple hours of sleep he managed to snatch between scans and blood tests. Bobby is exhausted himself; he thinks he’s getting too old for bedside vigils, especially the all-night kind, but even the weight of fatigue and the ache in his bones aren’t enough to make him regret it.

Morning traffic is slow, the radio a low buzz, and the cold air blasting them with the fan on high is enough to wake Bobby up a little more. Buck doesn’t fiddle with the radio stations like he usually would, he just stares out the window, head tipped against the glass. A few minutes into the drive, his eyes close, but he must sense Bobby’s eyes on him every time they stop for a red light because when he straightens as they pull into the station, he makes a point of saying, “I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

“Hey.” Bobby puts a hand on Buck’s shoulder, holding him back before he can open his door. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah.” Buck’s smile is small, still a little tremulous, but it’s there. “Me too.”

Eddie is waiting when they get out of the truck; Bobby wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been hanging around the door just so he’s the first one to meet them. He doesn’t even have to open his mouth before Bobby is saying, “Clean bill of health from the docs.”

Eddie smiles, relief obvious. “Glad to hear it.”

The temptation to hold onto Buck and never let go is strong, but Bobby makes himself push it down. Instead, he puts a hand on Buck’s back, giving him one last smile, then leaves him with Eddie, knowing he’s in good hands. Almost instantly, Hen falls into step beside him.

“So?” she prompts.

“Clean bill of health,” Bobby repeats for her. “He’ll be fine.”

Hen smiles, glancing back toward Buck and Eddie. “I know. We’ll make sure of it.”

 _Yes_ , Bobby thinks, sure of the words. _We will._

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading. Kudos and comments are love 💛 And you can also find me on tumblr [here](https://renecdote.tumblr.com/).


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